


The Lost Heir

by spanglemaker9



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanglemaker9/pseuds/spanglemaker9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where did Hook come from, exactly? A drabble-ish, future shot, slice-of-life, Captain Swan moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Heir

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble that turned into 2K words. Somehow that always happens to me. It’s a drabble in spirit, since it’s pretty much about nothing.
> 
> Thanks to wtvoc for cleaning it up and for Hook-flailing with me.

“Give me the keys.”

“Why?” Killian’s hand automatically gripped the keys tighter. Even this far removed from his days as a marauder of the high seas, his instinct when challenged was to hold his ground and defend. Emma calmly worked the keys free from his fingers.

“Because you’re a menace behind the wheel back home in the States. They drive on the other side of the road here. You could cause an international incident.”

Killian let her have the keys with a scowl. He didn’t like his mastery of any mode of transportation being challenged. He drove with the same daring, broad sweeps of navigation that he used when sailing, letting his instincts guide him. He and David sometimes took their trucks out to the empty back roads around Storybrooke, letting loose like madmen, racing each other through obstacle courses set up by Leroy. Under those circumstances, Killian was a formidable driver, accomplishing turns on two wheels at reckless speeds with casual aplomb. But the finer points of passing lanes and turn signals tried his patience. Emma was right. He was a bit of a menace on city streets. And in this country, they did it all backwards.

“Fine,” he said, spreading his arms wide, inviting her around to the driver’s side of their rented car. “It’s hard to steer and flip the bird with one hand, and I’ve learned watching you that obscene hand gestures are required for city driving.”

Emma made a face.

“I should probably navigate, at any rate.”

“So where are we going, anyway?” she asked, sliding behind the wheel. Killian slipped into his own seat with an easy, sensual grace that still distracted and befuddled her, even after months and months together.

He flashed her a rakish smile. “It’s a surprise, darling.”

She leaned across the center console, unable to resist kissing that smile. “All right. Surprise me. Where to first?”

Killian began consulting pages he’d printed off Google maps, which impressed her. He’d grudgingly learned to use a computer, but he was generally distrustful of most modern technology and avoided it when he could. He carried a cell phone, but she could never reach him on it since he left it on silent nearly all the time. There was something endearing about watching him puzzle out his computer-generated maps, his hair falling forward into his eyes as he scowled. Whatever he had planned, he’d worked hard at it.

“It says we should follow the M15. Does that make sense? Is that a roadway?”

She suppressed a smile. “They call them motorways in England, but yes. Okay, the M15.” She threw the rental in gear and turned out of their hotel parking lot, into the snarl of London traffic.

She was enjoying this trip to London, the first time she’d ever traveled with Killian, outside of portal jumps to various magical realms. This time, no one’s life was at stake and no evil magical spell threatened their happy ending. They were simply _on vacation_. Killian’s violent dislike of flying had started the week off on a rocky note, but once they’d landed in London, things had improved dramatically. It was refreshingly ordinary, just being tourists together, like any normal couple. Seeing Killian in jeans and a plaid shirt, no one would guess he was anything extraordinary, although he gathered plenty of appreciative glances from both sexes. The otherworldly pirate only came out in his florid speech, his rakishly cocked eyebrow, and his scandalous flirtations with literally everyone he spoke to.

The bustle of London had been fun, but Emma had to admit, it was nice to leave the city behind and explore the gorgeous English countryside. Everything was lush and green with summer foliage and the farther they traveled, the more perfectly picturesque the scenery became. Rolling hills were dotted with occasional herds of sheep, divided irregularly with low stone walls or rambling hedgerows. Now and then they would wend their way through a charming English village, past pubs and inns and souvenir shops.

Killian kept track of their progress with one finger tracing along his pages of printed maps, pointing out occasional turns onto increasingly smaller country roads.

“Killian,” Emma said as she steered the car around a slow-moving tractor on the road. “When do I get to find out where we’re going?” She smiled at him, trying to draw him out, but he missed it since he was watching the road.

Killian leaned forward to read a painted wooden sign on the side of the road. “Right about now, love. Turn right.”

Emma had just enough time to execute the turn onto a narrow gravel drive, so she missed what the sign said. She remained clueless about their destination until they pulled up in front of a stately old English manor house and the sign in the wide parking area identified it as Carlton House.

“It’s open to the public. I checked online,” Killian supplied by way of explanation.

“You want to tour an English manor house?”

“ _This_ manor house.”

Emma blinked in confusion. “Okay…. If you want to. Sure, let’s go.”

As far as English manor houses went, it was one of the smaller ones. There seemed to be no other visitors outside of the two of them. Killian cheerfully paid their entrance fee while flirting wildly with the elderly docent at the door. She was nearly blushing as she handed him a brochure and pointed them down the hall.

Emma followed Killian, baffled and curious. Why did he want to come here, of all places? This small manor deep in the English countryside? He’d never exhibited any interest in antique furniture or the history of English architecture. He did like watching the BBC, but mostly the news and the crime dramas. History—this realm’s history— never seemed to hold much interest for him.

“Killian, not that I’m not enjoying myself, but why did we come here, exactly?”

He tugged her down the hall, examining each room they passed with intense interest. “You’ll see,” he murmured. “Assuming it’s still here. I suppose they could have sold it off, all things considered.”

“Who sold what off? What are you talking about?”

He stopped at the doorway to what looked to be a dining room. “This used to be a parlor.”

“Killian?”

He pivoted and looked into a room across the hall. “Ah! Here we are.”

Pulling her along after him, he entered a room lined with bookshelves and filled with dark wood furniture. In front of the marble fireplace he stopped and looked up.

“You’re really confusing me right now. What are we doing here?”

“Saying hello to my brother.”

Emma’s eyes shot to the portrait hanging over the fireplace. It depicted two young men in formal clothes from a much earlier century. One, the one who appeared a bit older, was seated in an elaborate armchair. The other man stood behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder. They both wore light-colored frock coats with ornate embroidery, rich lace spilling out at their collars and cuffs. Her jaw dropped when she registered the face of the younger man. It was Killian.

“Killian…”

“Aye.”

“Is that you?”

“I said ‘aye’. That’s me. And my brother, Liam.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You didn’t think I was born captaining the Jolly Roger, did you?”

“You never said where you came from before that.”

“I came from here.”

“This house?” she whisper-shouted. “You used to _live_ here??”

“Not here. This was my uncle’s house. My mother’s brother. He was quite fond of Liam and myself. No sons of his own, you see, so Liam was meant to inherit.”

“Wait… this was… you were….”

“Liam was meant to be a baronet. Before Neverland. And then I suppose I was meant to be a baronet after he died.”

“You suppose?”

Killian finally looked away from the portrait and shrugged. “I never came back. At some point, they must have had me declared dead and someone else became the baronet instead. Probably our idiot cousin, Reginald. I am sorry for that. A hell of a burden to place on the noble house of Carlton.”

Emma looked around the finely-appointed old room. “This was supposed to be yours?”

“No,” he said with force. “It was supposed to be my brother’s before he died chasing down the king’s mad folly. Once that happened, there was no place for me in this world any longer.”

“Killian…” Emma was speechless. All this time she’d known him, she’d never given much thought to where and when he came from. He was just her scruffy, irrepressible, charming pirate. But he was English aristocracy. She knew he’d been alive a long time, caught up in some sort of intra-realm magic that kept him perpetually young and handsome, but she never considered exactly how old he was. The portrait put a date on it. There was Killian— _her_ Killian, the man who shared her bed and her life—looking barely out of his teens, in a portrait painted in 1772. Christ, he was older than America.

Killian threw her a roguish grin. “Lighten up, Swan.” That was one of his favorite modern sayings— _“Lighten up, Swan.”_   He said it to her all the time. “I didn’t mean for it to be so serious. I knew we were nearby and I thought I’d peek in. See if it was all still here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, seeing the flicker of pain behind his rakish aplomb. Once he’d have fooled her with that. Once, she wouldn’t have looked any further than the smile and the cocked eyebrow. Now she knew there was more to him than that. Underneath the pirate swagger was a man of astounding heart and depth, both intelligent and passionate. Her best friend. Her soul mate. And now he’d shown her this secret piece of his past. She was certain he’d never shared it with anyone else, nor would he.

He wanted her to see it, but he wouldn’t want to dwell on it, or get maudlin. So to lighten the mood, she said lightly, “You know, I’ve always had a thing for English nobility.”

There went the eyebrow, and the louche perusal. He still looked at her like she was something to eat. It still made her heart race when he did. “Is that so?”

“Mm hmmm. Nothing I like better than curling up on a rainy Saturday with a good BBC costume drama.”

Killian waved a hand at his younger self, decked out in lace and embroidered satin. “Are you saying you find that sort of thing appealing? I’m wearing bloody _knee breeches_.”

She leaned in and kissed him on his neck, just under his jaw, nothing but a brush of her lips across his skin. “When it’s you, I do. Imagine, I have my very own marauding pirate and now it turns out I’ve got my very own proper English lord, too.”

“Not much proper about me these days, love.”

She grinned against his shoulder, and then nipped at his neck with her teeth. “Promise?”

He groaned. “So what do they do in these… what did you call them? Costume dramas?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in. A lot of polite conversations and drinking tea.”

“Sounds quite close to the reality, then. It was a frightful bore growing up here. There was more than one reason I turned to piracy.”

Emma chuckled, imagining her Killian pacing around a drawing room like a caged tiger, scandalizing society girls. “I bet you were a rake, weren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually, I would.”

“Shall we go back to the hotel and I can show you my minuet?”

“Is that what you called it back then?”

He laughed and leaned in, whispering a string of words in her ear, none she recognized, but she blushed at their obvious obscenity. “That’s just what I picked up at Eton,” he murmured.

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel,” Emma said, suddenly feeling hot in the drafty old house.

“As you wish.” Killian stepped back and swept his arm in front of him with a courtly flourish and a tiny bow. She used to think he was being sarcastic when he whipped out the overblown manners; now, in this room, she could see he wasn’t mocking or aping others when he did it. He was opening a tiny window to himself.

She could picture him then, in his eighteenth-century finery, surrounded by luxury, with his fine noble manners, being raised for a life she could scarcely conceive. What a miracle that they’d ever found each other at all. Magic, indeed.

“Are you sure you’re done here?”

Killian looked up once more at the portrait of himself and his brother from another time, another life. He gave Liam one sad, small smile, then he looked at Emma and grinned.

“Aye, lass. I’m ready to go.”

 

 

 


End file.
